The Meaning of Hate
by Larathia
Summary: someone asked me to tell them what hate was. This is as close as I can get to an answer.


Seifer woke to the sound of his own voice, screaming.

There was sharp pain at his wrists and ankles, and he fell back - only then realizing he'd been straining.

He lay against the soft pillow, blinking and gasping for breath, not really sure even now what was going on, where he was, _who_ he was.

"REST," came a didactic feminine voice that - perhaps - should have been familiar.

"You're gonna be okay, ya know?" said a warm male voice, equally unfamiliar.

Seifer closed his eyes, tried to steady his breathing. He had never been 'okay'. And he would never be 'okay' again. He was beginning to remember now.

She was dead.

It was amazing he could have forgotten that, really. His soul was raw and bleeding, would never be whole again. Ultimecia's fierce pride and heart-stopping grace had filled his mind, and when she had finally achieved Time Compression he was not lost. How could he be, when the bond between them sharpened almost into Joining, filling his mind with her every proud thought?

They had been two of a kind, or so he'd thought. Pride and strength and the willingness to do whatever was required to win. Fighting dirty - the only way to fight.

And now she was dead, and the part of his soul he'd given to the bond was gone forever. The Sorceress' Knight no more, nevermore. Alone in his mind, alone forever.

Squall would _die_ for this.

He didn't realize he was straining again until the restraints bit into the chafe-marks at his wrists and ankles.

How could Squall be so fucking merciless? So absolutely fucking _soulless_ as to take away everything Seifer had ever wanted, needed, or loved?

Seifer had wanted to be a SeeD, the best SeeD ever, a gunblade specialist. Squall was the one who made SeeD, though - and with the gunblade, no less.

Seifer had had Rinoa's love. One dance with Squall later, and she was gone - right into that fucking prettyboy's arms.

Seifer's dream had been to be a Sorceress' Knight. Squall was the Knight now, to the only Sorceress in the world - who just _happened_ to be Seifer's own ex-girlfriend.

Squall even had sole control over the only home Seifer could ever remember - Balamb Garden.

Everything he'd had, Squall had taken. And worse - what made it ever so much worse - was that Squall wasn't even _trying_. He didn't set out to take Seifer's place in anything. That was just how the cards fell. And now Squall was the savior of the world, and Seifer could look forward - if he was lucky - to a quick death sentence. Hell, and why not? The bastard had taken everything else. Why not his life too? Make a clean sweep. Just kill him and absorb the Posse into the ranks of Garden. Make Seifer Almasy a mere greasy footnote on the pages of History.

Oh yeah. He'd already _lost_ the posse, in the Lunatic Pandora. Seifer's fingers twitched for the molded rubber grip of Hyperion, the only friend he had worthy of any trust.

Seifer forced himself to lie back and relax, staring at the plain white tiles of a hospital ceiling, and thought of all the hundreds of ways he would kill Squall once he was out of here. Eventually the posse got the hint and left him alone.

* * * * * * * *

Once he was plainly no longer delusional - he got the impression he'd been howling and violent for several days - the medics of Esthar let him go. He wasn't well known here, just one more person fallen after the Lunar Cry's devastation. He had only one thing on his mind now. Find Squall, and kill him. If he still had that faithless bitch with him, kill her too - Fuu would be so much better a Sorceress than that bubbleheaded wench. Every monster he killed with his posse was Squall in Seifer's mind. The only joy he knew now was cleaving the skull of a Torama and imagining it was Squall's too-pretty face. They sold any part of every monster they killed that was worth any money. When they had enough...they would find the Garden. In dreams he dueled again with his rival, perfecting parries and cuts against his cold-blooded foe. Sometimes he won, and slept through the night. More nights, he lost - the last sight of those gray eyes so utterly indifferent to his existence enough to wake him up.

That was what made it so unbearable. Squall didn't _care_ - didn't care that he'd taken Seifer's dream. Didn't care that he'd taken Seifer's life. Didn't care if Seifer lived, died, or drove off a cliff.

Seifer growled and swung Hyperion in an angry slash. Well, Seifer would damn well _make_ Squall care. He'd cared in that prison, hadn't he? There had been reaction there, even if only confusion, even if only for a few minutes. And then...ah demonic...he'd seen that Squall didn't even care if he _died_. There had been utter resignation in those gray eyes. Seifer couldn't threaten him with death. Squall didn't even care about his _own life._

Yet Squall was the savior of the world, and Seifer a wanted criminal. It was like receiving a sentence of death via a form letter that had your name misspelled.

The posse watched helplessly as Seifer's rage turned more and more inward. His cat-green eyes glittered as he sliced open monster after monster - the form always perfect, the kill always clean. The posse had taken up cleaning and dressing the corpses just to have something useful to contribute.

One night, they shared a wordless look; they'd had enough. Raijin, ever willing to be the target, laid a hand on Seifer's arm - startling him out of his own rage-driven thoughts.

"You gotta let it go, ya know?" he said, worried. "So he won. You're still the best. Don't let him take this from you too, okay? Ya gotta let it go."

Seifer grabbed Raijin by the collar of his shirt and threw him - hard - away from him. "What else have I got?" he demanded. "Squall's got _everything_ I was supposed to have. SeeD, the Sorceress, Rinoa, the place in history. That was supposed to be _me_! _I'm_ the one that worked my ass off training every day, leading mission after mission. All I have left is my fucking miserable anonymous _life_ - and if I can't use it to get the rest back, then _I don't fucking want it!_"

Fujin and Raijin backed off. Seifer would die for his revenge. If that was what he wanted, they would stand by him.

Seifer stared sullenly into the campfire. He wasn't stupid. He knew perfectly well that if he couldn't let the past go, if he couldn't accept that Squall had won...he could die from trying to get his own back. Most probably the minute he set foot in Garden. His gunblade wasn't much use against a shotgun, and Irvine was a damn good shot.

But damned if he'd play the humble loser. That was not what Seifer Almasy was. He would get his own back. Or he would die. But if he had to die, he might as well do his best to take that too-pretty, too-indifferent bastard down with him.

That was all that life had, now. The bastard had taken everything else, but Seifer would have his revenge.


End file.
